


Fear is my Weapon

by the_pale_rider



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 11:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3648363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pale_rider/pseuds/the_pale_rider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Night Haunter hunts down the Nightmare King of Nostramo Quintus, a man who claims to have weaponised fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear is my Weapon

The Night Haunter crouched on the edge of the parapet, blending in amongst the gargoyles. His lank, bedraggled hair blew across his corpse pale face as rain lashed down from the smog choked sky, soaking through his black rags. He’d finally stopped outgrowing his clothes, though he knew he was far larger than anyone on this world. He was faster and stronger too; able to outrun and overpower several enemies in a matter of seconds. But his truest weapon was fear. The mutilated bodies he left in his wake spoke volumes. Bodies torn apart, skins flayed off, limbs ripped off, still living victims strung up; his brutal acts inspired dread amongst the criminals and the corrupt of Nostramo Quintus. He would purge this city of sin, enforce law and justice upon these unruly people. Fear of his bloody retribution would keep them in line. Already in the areas he had cleared, the people kept to a self-imposed curfew and crime had virtually disappeared. 

They had given him a name, a name that inspired terror – the Night Haunter. He smiled at the name. He would become the monster they feared to maintain the rule of law. Sensing the threat he posed to them, the criminal lords and ladies had begun hiring murder gangs to hunt him down. None had returned alive, but their brutalised corpses, decapitated heads and skinless bodies had. All had been hung from the lairs of their masters. A clear message to those who still thought themselves safe. One of these was the Nightmare King. 

The Nightmare King. A whispered murmur amongst the population of this grim city. A name that had inspired fear long before the Night Haunter. Few knew anything about this shadowy figure but many knew of his deeds. Through trial and experimentation he had weaponised fear; creating hallucinogenic drugs that subjected its victims to their worst fears. Those who incurred his displeasure were found raving about things only they could see, driven into paroxysms of terror by his drugs. Most were driven insane, some died; clawing their eyes out to stop the visions. Through the clinical use of these drugs, the Nightmare King had built a vast criminal empire in the city. People were dragged off to be used as test subjects for his new drugs. The fortunate ones died, their hearts and minds unable to cope with the mind altering effects. Those who survived were tossed out into the streets, gibbering and insensate.

The Night Haunter had heard of this pretender in the dark alleys and slums of the city, where the Nightmare King’s men hunted for test subjects. He resolved to show this man the true meaning of fear. Not his chemically induced hysteria, but pure, natural fear that chilled the blood and froze the heart.

Leaping off the parapet, the pale man plummeted towards the cobbles below, black cloak billowing around him like wings. Catching the ledge of the building in front of him, he entered the Nightmare King’s territory. 

\--------------

After a couple of hours searching through the slums, he had found the King’s lair. Secluded in the miserable depths of those ramshackle hovels, his compound squatted like an immense spider. Wreathed in low hanging mist and echoing with terrified shrieks and cries of the damned, it was easy to see why so many feared its master.

Smirking to himself, the Night Haunter skulked over the rooftops, moving towards the compound. None saw him or heard him pass, he blended with the shadows like he was one of them. Despite the near total darkness of Nostramo’s night, his eyes pierced it easily. He had learnt that his senses, both natural and unnatural, were keener and sharper than anyone’s. He told hear the shallow breathing and heartbeats of the men guarding the compound. He counted sixteen throughout the grounds. No matter. He had faced more before.

He killed the first without a sound, slitting his throat from ear to ear and sawing through his skull as he choked on his own blood. Leaving the twitching corpse to be found, he ghosted around the perimeter, leaving flayed faces, broken limbs and shattered spines in his wake. By the time he killed the eighth, alarms wailed. His work had been found. Just has he’d intended. Fear of suffering the same fate will infect his foes; distracting them, making them jump at shadows. Distracted prey was easy prey. He killed two more, simultaneously decapitating the pair with his bare hands. Impaling the heads on improvised spikes, he moved on. Beams of light speared through the darkness, trying in vain to find him. He dragged another guard screaming into the shadows, stripping and flaying him. He left his wet, glistening body hanging from the guard tower. The remaining five guards were becoming frantic now, handheld lumen braziers flickering in the dark. They were bunched together, their herd mentality kicking in. There was no safety in numbers. 

Dropping from his perch, he landed in amongst them. In a blur of motion, he struck one, ripping out a chunk of his spine out whilst clawing another’s throat open. In the midst of their screaming, he darted back into the shadows. The survivors ran, their resolve broken. Licking his teeth, he pursued them. He loved the thrill of the hunt. Clambering up above them, he ran and leapt, tackling the straggler in a blur of teeth and nails. Leaving his throat and chest gored open, he got ahead of the remaining pair, blocking their path. Now he let them see him, confirming the terrifying image their panicked imaginations had created. 

His black ragged clothes were splattered with blood and gore. His alabaster pale face contrasting sharply with the blood dripping from his chin and matting his hair. His soulless obsidian eyes were bereft of mercy or empathy. His fingers ended in jagged, bloodstained nails. The two men were frozen in fear, held in place by his terrible presence. He smiled. It was a murderer’s smile, cold, unforgiving and didn’t reach his eyes. Before they could retreat, he lunged. His outstretched hands smashed into their chests, shattering ribs and shredding vital organs. Knocking them to the ground, he pulled his hands out of their ruined torsos. Leaving them to desperately gasp for air, he walked the Nightmare King’s laboratories.

\--------------

The corridors were tight and claustrophobic, illuminated by dim, lumen strips that gave off a sickly, yellow light. Demented screams echoed up from somewhere below, pathetic howls of the unfortunates taken by the Nightmare King. He paid them no mind. He was not here for them.

He threaded his through the labyrinth of corridors and tunnels. The place seemed to be deserted. Gouts of steam hissed from pipes, machinery whirred and clanked. It must all be part of the process to make the drugs. As he moved through the laboratories, the Night Haunter glanced at a myriad of sights. 

Cages. Hundreds of them. Hung from the ceilings by rusted chains. Set against the walls. Each was crammed with gibbering, insane pale bodies. Some thrashed and howled, in the throes of violent convulsions. Others wailed and moaned, beating themselves bloody. All must be experiments, exposed to one of the King’s hallucinogens. 

Great vats of hissing chemicals. Distilleries and refineries. Tubes and pipes that carried all manner of liquids around the laboratories. This man knew his trade. He could bring the entire city to its knees if he wished.

He finally passed through the numerous laboratories, entering what seemed to be the Nightmare King’s sanctum. Books lined the walls, all on psychology, biology and chemistry. Jars containing strange lumps of flesh and offal sat in several alcoves. A model of the human nervous system sat on a frame in corner. The Night Haunter crept through the room, not making a sound despite his size.   
Bright lights suddenly illuminated the gloomy room, bathing it in a searing light. Shrieking in pain, the Night Haunter screwed his eyes shut, after images dancing behind his eyelids. 

“So this is the infamous Night Haunter.” The cold voice echoed around the chamber. “You are not what I imagined. And not quite so terrifying now you don’t have shadows to skulk around in.”

He hissed, baring his teeth. “Show yourself wretch!”

“I have no intention of doing something so foolish. I know your reputation for violence.”

The Night Haunter’s enhanced hearing was already working to triangulate the position of the speaker. He was nearby, but not in the room. Keeping his eyes shut, he moved around, trying to follow the over-confident voice of his foe. 

“I thought you of all people would appreciate my work,” the voice continued. “You wield fear as a weapon yourself. And quite effectively too I might add.”

“Yours is not true fear. It is created in a laboratory. False! Impure!” He was getting closer. The voice was louder, coming from down a tunnel in front of him. He could still feel the heat of bright lights. He wasn’t as helpless as the Nightmare King thought, but they were still a hindrance he’d prefer removed. But not yet.

He entered what sounded like an arena, echoes bouncing off a domed ceiling. It was still well lit, the bright light burning against his closed eyes. 

“I know why you are here, Night Haunter. I have no intention of being gutted and strung up like an animal.”

He was tired of the King’s endless monologue. Focussing his mind, he sent out a ripple of psychic energy that radiated outwards, shattering every light it reached. Darkness descended on the arena. Opening his eyes, the Night Haunter smiled as he finally saw the Nightmare King. An ordinary man, unremarkable even. He could smell the stink of rejuvenat treatments from across the chamber. But, in his eyes shone with a dark intelligence, manic almost. His features were gaunt, almost cadaverous, despite the anti-ageing treatments he’d received.

“Release the subjects!” he cried, surprise and fear creeping into his voice.

A dreadful howling and screaming filled the air as packs of gibbering test subjects charged out of the tunnels. Snarling in frustration, the Night Haunter barrelled into them, claws first. He killed one as he landed, shredding his chest in a blur of nails. The other test subjects mobbed him, moaning and flailing at him. Clearly, they had no awareness of what they were doing but he did not care. He struck hard and fast, swiping and slashing with his nails, ripping and tearing them apart. In a matter of seconds, nothing was left but bloody hunks of flesh and bone. He turned and saw the Nightmare King slowly backing away towards another tunnel. A slow, predatory grin crept across his mouth.

“I have come for you.”

The King retreated, running down the tunnel. Laughing manically, he leapt after him. He could hear the man’s panicky breathing, the rapid beat of his heart. How ironic. A man who had built his life on inflicting fear on others, who had studied and weaponised it; he wasn’t immune to it. He would make sure he felt the full effects of true fear. 

The tunnel lead out into another large open space. All manner of contraptions, machines and devices lay scattered around it. Numerous knives, blades, syringes and other instruments lay on large metal table. Dead bodies were strapped into racks, hanging limply by their restraints. This must have been where the Nightmare King performed his experiments. But the man was nowhere to be seen.  
“You cannot hide from me,” he hissed at the gloom.

A grenade arced through the air, clattering at his feet. A pale, white gas began hissing from it. It must be his hallucinogens, he mused. No matter, he’d learnt that his body was immune to most poisons he’d encountered so far, and the assassin cults of Nostramo had access to some especially virulent ones. He glanced over to where the grenade had been thrown from. Clad in a gas mask, the Nightmare King stood beside a crate of them, another in his hand.

“It won’t be long now,” he sneered, his voice muffled by his mask. “Soon you’ll be screaming and begging for death. Then I’ll collect the bounty on your head.”

The Night Haunter smiled again, and stalked forward. The Nightmare King wavered, his body betraying his unease. He threw another grenade but he caught it and threw against the wall. It shattered, releasing more gas. Before he could throw another, he darted forward and lifted him into the air by his throat. The King clawed at his hand, trying to break his vice-like grip. Walking over to the table, he picked out a wickedly sharp flaying knife. 

“I said you would know true fear,” he whispered as he pressed the knife against the man’s chest. “Now, you will know pain.”

\--------------

Those who lived near the Nightmare King’s lair had heard the screams coming from the compound but had thought nothing of it. It was rare when screams didn’t echo out from that foreboding place. In the murky light of morning, they emerged to find that the Night Haunter had visited the Nightmare King in the night.

A man, or what was left of a man was pinned to the gates of the compound. His legs ended above the knee, one arm at the elbow whilst the other was missing entirely. His head had been flayed, one eye was gone. The flesh on his torso was a mass of cuts, some jagged and deep whilst others were thin and surgical. The bodies of sixteen other men decorated the walls, each equally brutalised and desecrated. 

The message was clear – only the Night Haunter was the master of fear in Nostramo Quintus


End file.
